


Three times liar

by WellDoneBeca



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Abortion, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Based on Song, Canon Universe, Don’t copy to another site, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Happy Ending, Heavy Angst, Hurt, I fixed some stuff from season 8, Jon and Sansa are Cousins, Jonsa is endgame, Minor Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Not EVERYTHING, Political Jon Snow, Protective Arya Stark, R Plus L Equals J, Sad with a Happy Ending, Season/Series 08, but i tried, or maybe not?, season 8 episode 1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2020-01-15 14:55:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18501304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WellDoneBeca/pseuds/WellDoneBeca
Summary: “Did you bend the knee because of the north or because you love her?”Sansa knew the answer to the question, even if he didn’t. In the bottom of her heart, she knew it. She knew it when she heard the rumours, when he arrived, and when she had laid her eyes on the beautiful foreign queen beside the man who’d promised he’d never let her suffer again.Stupid girl. Stupid little girl with stupid dreams who never learns.





	1. We don’t stand a chance, It’s sad but it’s true

**Author's Note:**

> Check the Soundtrack Playlist:  
> On Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/user/becaammarques/playlist/3AEt70fbB3gspL2LZvB7kW?si=iiuBWnV5TpOaxKLDeoMqIg  
> On YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLjt6IT7cVTF3mnAMoQBi1K52JtXsa2DeL

“Did you bend the knee because of the north or because you love her?”

Jon just stared into Sansa’s eyes. He knew this was about to happen the moment he sailed with the Targaryen Queen to the North. Things with his Sansa were different since CastleBlack. They never saw one another as brother and sister and the words felt weird in their mouths when said; it never felt like that.

He only noticed how things were different when they were already set in the North, him as King and she was Lady of Winterfell. He was in her bed days later, entangled in her red flames just like he’d once been with Ygritte, trying his best not to make any noise and attract the guard at her door, or even not trying to think about what they were doing. They’d had the decency of saying it wouldn’t happen again every time for the first times, but that was a habit they lost. No one knew, and if anyone did, they never said a thing. Davos sometimes gave him looks and Brienne had silenced Podrick’s whispers once, but that was it.

“Sansa...” Jon stepped forward, closer to her.

She just took a step back.

“Answer me.”

Her voice was just as cold as the lands around them, just as cold as the tone she’d used with Targaryen Queen.

“I did what I had to do for the North,” he said slowly, choosing his words carefully.

“Liar,” she said, filled with disgust.

“She wanted me to bend the knee, I...”

Her face was enough to make his heart filled with pain.

‘Hit me’, he wanted to scream. ‘Slap me, punch me, push a knife into my stomach’.

All of those options were better than what she was doing to him, better than the way she looked and sounded hurt because of him.

"I couldn't say no."

“Liar. You did a lot more than just bending the knee.”

Jon’s blood pumped in his veins faster, loud enough for him to hear it in his ears.

“I had no choice.”

“Liar!” her voice came out loud and clear, and both stopped, expecting a reaction to the outburst.

Liar. Liar. Liar. Three times a liar. He had been called many names in his life: Brother, bastard, Lord Snow, crow, Lord Commander, traitor… Brother. Lover. But not a liar. This was the first time he was called a liar.

“I saw you two,” she didn’t flinch, the pain in her eyes destroying him inside but not even showing on her face. “All Winterfell did.”

Sansa knew the answer to the question, even if he didn’t. In the bottom of her heart, she knew. She knew it when he arrived when she had laid her eyes on the beautiful foreign queen beside the man who’d promised he’d never let her suffer again.

“I don’t love her,” he finally whispered, stepping in and cleaning her cheek with a thumb, making Sansa realize a single tear had fallen there. “I couldn’t love anyone but you.”

She knew better than to lean into his touch but did it the same way, and Jon used the opportunity to kiss her lips, something he’d been dying to do since his arrival.

His sister… Their father would die out of disappointment if he wasn’t already dead.

He pulled away, however.

“I must keep convincing her,” he affirmed, but Sansa didn’t know if he told that to soothe her or himself. “She wants someone to adore her. I’ll do what I need to do for the North.”

Sansa didn’t protest or even answered, keeping her silence.

Stupid girl. Stupid little girl with stupid dreams who never learns.

“It’s late. You should sleep,” he decided, offering her his arm. “I’ll accompany you to your chambers.”

Sansa took his arm with no words. She kept her silence until they reached her door and only offered him a nodded and a soft goodbye.

She didn’t lock the door yet but just sat by the fire and waited, unbraiding her hair. It was just when she heard a knock on the door she moved her eyes away from the flames.

“Lady Sansa?” Brienne called outside.

“Come in.”

The blond knight entered the room with heavy steps, the cup still fuming in her free hand and a frown decorating her face.

“Maester Wolkan sent you this, my lady.”

Sansa nodded politely.

“Leave it on the table. You can go.”

Tansy with mint and wormwood, a spoon of honey and a drop of pennyroyal.

“Moon tea, milady?”

She moved her hand to her lower stomach. She had waited a long time to do this. Almost too long, the maester had said, but her hopes had been too high until them. It was no less than two weeks before Jon had left, and Littlefinger had started to suspect of it the night before his death. She hadn’t told Arya, and if Bran knew he hadn’t said a word.

“Thank you, Brienne,” Sansa insisted.

The knight woman said nothing else and only obeyed. She was just at the door when her Lady called her name.

“Lady Brienne.”

She stopped.

“Yes, my lady?”

“I trust you not to tell this to anyone.”

Brienne lowered her eyes.

“Of course, my lady.”

 

 _But every time you hurt me, the less that I cry_  
_And every time you leave me, the quicker these tears dry_  
_And every time you walk out, the less I love you_  
_Baby, we don’t stand a chance, it’s sad but it’s true_


	2. A love I can't carry anymore

Sansa ignored Brienne and her heavy stepping behind herself while she walked through the corridors.

“Lady Sansa,” she said with clear annoyance in her voice. “The maester said you must rest.”

“I don’t have time to rest. The dead are coming, there are thousands of new people to feed and care for and I can’t risk leaving any detail unattended.”

She had slept through the night only thanks to the maester’s assistance, but now there was no time to lose. Jaime Lannister had just installed himself and was ready for his new duty, accompanied by Podrick, just as Theon was doing the same.

The blonde woman continued to follow her, not knowing how to answer. She was right; the people needed their lady, but still…

“You should have waited another day,” her voice came out calmer, but she stopped herself when a guard passed them, only continuing to speak when they were alone again. “My lady.”

The lady stopped, finally, and turned to her.

“The problem is, Brienne, I don’t know if we have any other days.”

“Then what difference would it make?”

Sansa shook her head. Brienne couldn’t understand and both of them knew that very well. She wasn’t feeling well, and she knew it would take at least a fortnight to feel normal again according to the maester, but the people needed her and she couldn’t let them down. She didn’t matter, only they did, and she needed to push herself through it.

“Let me at least call on your sister so she won’t leave your side in my absence.”

She took a deep breath but agreed. Anything to stop Brienne from annoying her for the days to come. Arya was discreet, and she had already told her she was ill.

She followed her plans to go down to the forge with the knight on her heels, but Brienne soon left when she realized the young Lady Stark was there already.

“Gendry,” she called.

The boy was King Robert’s bastard, the only one left, and the last Baratheon in the world as far as they knew it. He was also a great smith.

“Lady Stark,” he quickly stops what he was doing. “I wasn’t expecting any visitors.”

“Don’t stop on my account,” she raised a hand. “I’m just here to ask if you have everything you need and if the weapon making is going as planned.”

He went back to the blade in front of him.

“Everything is going as planned,” he confirmed. “And I do have everything I need, my lady. Thank you.”

She confirmed, and Sansa left with Arya right behind her, holding a very small smile on her lips.

“Well?” she glanced over her shoulder.

Arya just gave her a blank look.

“Well?”

“You’re not telling him?” the older sister questioned, turning fully to look at Arya as they stepped into the yard. “I know you like him, you don’t have to pretend you don’t.”

Her sister furrowed her brows uncomfortably, and the two proceeded to walk side by side until Sansa stopped again. This time, it wasn’t for any conversation or joke, but because of a sharp pain that cut her breath for a moment, and went away just as suddenly as it had come.

“Sansa,” Arya rushed to her side, holding her sister and staring at her face just as the people stopped to look at them.

“I’m alright,” the auburn-haired lady assured her, standing up straight. “It was nothing.”

She didn’t press on, only following Sansa back into the castle, and not missing when her sister flinched and covered her mouth with the back of her hand for a moment.

“I need an empty bucket,” she said discreetly to her sister. “Right now. Please.”

Sansa didn’t know where Arya got the bucket, but it didn’t matter. She was already vomiting into it and felt suddenly grateful when her sister reached out and held her hair back.

They stood there for a couple of seconds, with the brunette girl waiting while the Lady of the keep recomposed herself.

“What was that?” she enquired, sounding both confused and suspicious.

“I’ve been sick,” Sansa lied. “The Maester says I’ll be feeling better in a few days.”

“That’s why Brienne wants me to be around you,” the younger Stark noticed.

Sansa made an annoyed face.

“I can take care of myself,” she affirmed. “I don’t want that Targaryen Queen to think I can’t.”

Her sister only nodded.

“Are we still gonna need this?”

She waited for a moment, but nothing came to her and her body had seemed to settle down.

“I’m fine now,” she decided. “Thank you.”

“Not for that.”

But Sansa didn’t last too long. In the following hours, the pain in her midsection changed from ignorable to acute, and the only thing she could do was walk herself back to her chambers, trying her best to look calm and contained.

“My Lady,” she heard Brienne behind her, just as she entered one of the corridors leading to her chambers. “Is my assistance needed?”

Sansa swallowed hard, feeling her throat dry.

“Clean the way and help me walk,” she leaned onto the closest wall. “I don’t want anyone to see me like this.”

The woman didn’t protest, and the lady watched silently as Podrick ran in front of her and the blonde put an arm around Sansa’s back, supporting and helping her walk.

They were already close when Podrick came back, looking distressed.

“Forgive me, my lady, but your sister.”

Sansa frowned.

“What about Arya?”

“She...”

But the young man didn’t have the time to complete what he was saying.

“I want to know what’s happening,” Arya stepped in front of her older sister, staring at her face. “And I want to know it right now.”

>   
>  _ And the distance between that was sheltering me comes in full view   
>  Hang my head, break my heart built from all I have torn apart   
>  And my burden to bear is a love I can't carry anymore _


	3. A hand and a safe place to land

“It’s too late to be Ramsay’s,” Arya said, staring into the chamber’s fireplace.

Brienne had left the two alone, taking a confused Podrick with her. Sansa was sat on the closest chair they’d found.

“Thank gods,” Sansa closed her eyes, trying to ignore the horrible memories the name alone brought her.

“Is it little finger’s?”

Sansa grimaced.

“I’d die before letting him touch me like that,” she spat out, disgusted by the mere idea, and her sister didn’t even contest it.

“Podrick, then?” she turned around and Sansa shook her head. “Did anyone force himself on you?”

Sansa denied again.

“Then who?” Arya insisted.

“Doesn’t matter anymore,” she insisted. “He left.”

Arya lowered her eyes.

“Is that why you’re doing this?” the brunette looked at the empty cup by her sister’s side.

“Yes.”

Sansa squeezed her eyes, feeling the pain in her body and the effects of her choice.

“Why did he leave?”

She shook her head, trying not to cry.

“Because he never wanted to stay.”

‘Stupid girl. Stupid girl with stupid dreams who never learns’ she repeated to herself again and again.

Arya helped her sister undress and froze when first seeing the scars littering her skin, pressing her lips as more and more showed as her dress and small clothes fell on a pool at her feet.

Nothing pretty in the prettiest lady of Westeros.

“Gods,” Sansa hissed.

Inside Arya’s chest, her heart hurt for her sister’s suffering.

“I can kill him,” the brunette offered.

But her sister shook her head.

He’s our brother.

“I don’t want him dead,” she stepped out of the clothes. “I just want this to end.”

With Arya’s support, she sat back on the chair, this time with a cloth to cover the seat. It wasn’t long before it was soaking with blood.

“You need a bath.”

“I can’t,” she closed her eyes. “The maester said I shouldn’t swim or take baths for a few days.”

The younger Stark tried to keep her eyes away from her sister’s marked skin, but it was nearly impossible. They never talked about their scars; Arya knew Sansa had been tortured by Joffrey and Ramsay, as well as some rough things she had only brushed about, and Sansa knew that Arya was trained in Bravos with the faceless men. None of the sisters, however, had ever shared details.

“The sword ones are from Joffrey. They are hard to miss. He liked to beat me more than to struck me, though. The rest you can see was from Ramsay.”

“Did Joffrey do it himself?”

She shook her head.

“His Loyal Kingsguard did it,” she snickered. “Sir Meryn Trant mostly.”

The memories of the man flooded Arya’s mind.

“I killed him,” she told her sister. “Sir Meryn. I put a knife through both his eyes, one at time.”

Sansa’s shoulders relaxed a bit.

“Did he suffer?”

Her lips twitched.

“I made sure he did.”

“Good.”

A knock made the two of them turn their heads to the source, and Arya used a fur from the bed to cover her sister before opening the door.

“Water for you to clean yourself, my lady. And a washcloth. The maester told me you couldn’t be in the tub.”

Arya let the warrior woman in, silently watching her leaving the bucket and the cloth and leaving.

“Thank you,” Sansa said, and Arya wondered how she could still sound like a lady in such a position and situation. “You can go. Arya too.”

Podrick hasn’t even entered the chambers, and Brienne didn’t protest leaving, but the younger sister closed the door behind herself and barred the two of them in the Lady’s Chambers.

“I’ll help you.” she moved to her older sister, taking the furs over her away.

“You don’t have to,” Sansa squeezed the handle of the chair. “I can clean myself alone.”

“The Maester said you need to be attended to,” she pointed, dipping the cloth to the warm water. “I’ll help.”

“Arya…” her sister protested.

“Sansa.”

They stared into each other's faces, both unwilling to break down, but maybe the pain was making Sansa softer because she gave up.

“Okay.”

. . .

Arya watched her sister lied on the bed, hugging her own legs closely and trying her best to keep quiet in her place. They had placed a leather over her bed to protect the mattress from staining with the blood, and a sheet over the leather, so the rough fabric wouldn’t rub against Sansa’s skin. Arya has never seen her sister like that, pale and vulnerable as now.

She waited until she was asleep before falling asleep herself, sat on a chair between the door and the bed, ready to be up at any moment.

It was morning when she woke up, and her eyes rested on Sansa as her sister shook in severe tremors, moaning against her pillow.

“Sansa,” Arya jumped from the chair, and her sister only looked up at her. “I’m gonna get Maester Wolkan.”

Sansa didn’t protest, only covering herself further.

When she was back with the man behind her – and Samwell Tarly just as well – she found Theon on his knees holding a pot while her sister vomited into it, looking even paler than before.

“I’ll take care of this,” Sam moved to where the Greyjoy was.

“You two better leave,” Maester Wolkan said to both the lord and lady.

While Theon complied after a long look at the Lady of Winterfell, her sister didn’t do the same.

“Lady Arya,” Wolkan insisted. “I need to attend to your sister.”

“Try to make me leave,” the younger Stark walked to the opposite side of her sister’s bed.

The older man exchanged a look with Sam, but no one said anything after that.

“What is happening?”

“It’s a side effect of the Tansy, my lady,” he exclaimed. “I warned Lady Sansa she wouldn’t feel well. “Has she…” he trailed off, seemingly expecting her to confirm something.

“What?”

The maester walked to Sansa and grabbed the edge of the furs.

“May I, my lady?”

Her sister nodded weakly, and the man lifted furs over her for a moment, his face turning in deep worry to Sam.

“Not yet,” he decided. “My lady, this is not…”

Arya didn’t give him time to continue.

“I’ve seen worse things than you can imagine, Maester,” she interrupted him.

His eyes moved to Sansa, and she nodded.

“Lady Sansa needs to expel the dead child or she’s gonna die from the blood loss.”

Her face didn’t show, but Arya’s heart raced inside her chest.

“Is there anything you can do before she bleeds to death?” she enquired, suddenly terrified.

“We will wait. If she keeps bleeding and nothing has happened, I must do it.”

Arya took a breath and walked to her sister’s side, taking her hand in hers in a tight grip.

“You don’t have to stay,” Sansa whispered, weak and still stubborn.

“I don’t have to leave either.”

 

 

 

 _This is leap is on faith_  
_You don’t know who will catch you_  
_Maybe somebody will_  
_The ocean is wild and over your head_  
_And the boat beneath you is sinking_  
_Don’t need room for your bags_  
_Hope is all that you have_  
_Surely someone will reach out a hand_  
_And show you a safe place to land_


	4. I'm sorry

Arya glanced at Theon when she caught sight of him in front of Sansa’s door for the second time, and for a moment she wondered if he had even left since he was kicked out of the room. She was inside, holding Sansa’s hand as her sister bounced between states of fever and full conscience.

The Maester said he would be extracting the dead child before it could harm her sister, but he hadn’t done anything about it so far and this wasn’t pleasing her, to say the least.

“Arya,” Sansa called, noticing how she was staring at the closed door Samwell Tarly had just gone through. “Go find Jon. Tell him I can’t be present for my duties today.”

She furrowed her brows.

“I won’t leave you alone,” she protested.

“Let Theon in,” her sister pointed. “He won’t leave my side.”

So Arya left the room, covering her shoulders to protect herself from the cold, and Theon didn’t hesitate to enter after her. She had a goal: She’d find Jon, tell him what Sansa wanted, and would go back to her sister. No stops.

He was in the Yard, training with some young men when she arrived. His Targaryen Queen was watching, looking amused, and Arya felt anger pouring from inside her. Their sister could be dying and he hadn’t thought of looking for her but was spending his time with the foreign woman, the daughter of the man who killed their uncle and grandfather, and who wanted to steal the North away from them after they had gotten it back from the Boltons.

“Arya,” he stopped what he was doing and she walked in his direction.

“Sansa needs you to know that she won’t be able to attend her duties today. Can you replace her?”

Jon looked confused but nodded.

“Of course. Is she okay?”

“She’s sick,” Arya said simply, not wanting to tell Jon something Sansa herself hadn’t said.

“I’ll send the Maester to see her.”

“He’s already there.”

Maybe Jon was about to say something, but she didn’t give him the time, leaving him behind as she made her way back to her sister’s room once again. Theon was the one who opened the door for her, but he didn’t leave, and the moment Arya set foot inside the Lady’s Chambers, her eyes moved to what the Maester was doing.

There was something in his hand, a piece of fabric and something small and coated with blood.

“What is that?” she walked to him.

Arya stopped frozen once her eyes caught sight of what was in front of her.

It looked enough like a human for her to recognise it. It had skinny arms and legs, and a head almost half the size of its body. It wasn’t fully formed enough to look like a boy or girl, but Arya could guess it was a boy, but it didn’t really matter for her, honestly. It was dead, and it was out of her sister.

“What shall we do, my lady?”

The younger Stark didn’t have to speak, as Sansa’s voice – which no one had her for hours now – filled the room.

“Burn it.”

Arya took the fabric and closed it, throwing it to the fire without hesitance. For a moment, the place became clearer, and the smell of burning blood and flesh filled their noses.

“Is that it?” she turned to the older man. “Is she gonna stop bleeding now?”

The Maester lowered his eyes to where he sat, right between Sansa’s legs.

“She hasn’t expelled the placenta yet.”

Arya’s face twitched in anger.

“Put your hand in there and pull it with your fucking fingers, then!” she spat. “What are you waiting for?”

* * *

 

Jon rushed through the corridors of the castle, feeling his head pounding in a constant ache.

Sansa had lots of things to do daily, he couldn’t contest it. He’d done more in standing for her for some hours than during a day as King when he still had his crown – and his days weren’t calm either.

Tormund had arrived with Clegane, Edd and Beric Dondarion, and they had terrible news. The dead were coming, and they would arrive before the dawn of tomorrow. He needed to reunite all of the important people, but those included Sansa and she hadn’t been seen the entire day.

Brienne was standing outside the Lady’s Chambers, a vision that wasn’t as common as it used to be when they first took Winterfell back.

“Lady Brienne,” he said politely. “I’d like to speak with Sansa in private, please.”

The tall woman didn’t even move, staring him down like he was just an insect on her way. Jon could see the deep tiredness on her face. Had she spent the night there? Was Sansa feeling so bad that she felt the need of having her there?

“Forgive me, my Lord, but Lady Sansa is ill and has explicitly told me that no new visitors are allowed in her solar or chambers.”

He furrowed his brow. He _needed_ to talk to Sansa. After what Sam had said about his true parents and the dead coming, he needed to let her know of the truth. She was the only one he could trust with this right now.

“New visitors?” he enquired, noticing her choice of words.

“Lady Sansa is being attended to,” Brienne said simply. “Lady Arya and the Maester are inside keeping her company.”

He relaxed a bit. Arya had changed in the time she spent away from her family, and her strong sense of protection around Sansa was something he was very grateful for.

“Let me speak to Arya, please.”

She knocked on the door with one hand, not even moving the rest of her body and keeping her eyes on him, and soon the voice of the younger woman could be heard, questioning who it was.

“Lord Snow is here.”

Jon waited. How sick could Sansa be? He’d seen her just yesterday and she looked more than healthy, even more beautiful than ever.

“Jon,” Arya walked out of the room, stopping in front of him.

“The dead are coming,” he warned her, and he could see the blonde woman a few steps away shifting her posture in response. “They’ll be here before the sun rises tomorrow.”

The brunette only nodded, watching his face, and Jon could only imagine what was going through her mind now.

“My weapons are ready. I am ready.”

He confirmed and eyed her face.

“What’s happening?”

He didn’t get a quick answer back, only seeing Arya turning to the closed door before looking back at him.

“It’s not my story to tell.”

That made his stomach tie itself in a knot.

_Story?_

“Arya, how long has the Maester been in there?”

She hesitated and Jon gritted his teeth.

“I’m going in.”

Before Brienne could even touch the handle of her sword, ready to follow her lady’s orders at any cost, the door opened from the inside, revealing the Maester.

“My lady,” he looked like someone had lifted the heaviest weight from his shoulders. “The bleeding has stopped.”

Jon’s eyes moved to him.

“Bleeding?”

He pushed past the old man and into the solar, finding the door to Sansa’s bedchambers open and no one other than Sam and Theon inside, the first holding blood-soaked sheets and the later sat on the bed with her hand inside his.

He’d never seen Sansa like that, not even when she arrived in Castle Black tortured and hurt, and utterly broken.

“Sam,” he turned to his friend.

“She’s gonna be fine,” he affirmed. “The bleeding has stopped. It will take a few moons for her body to recover completely, but she’ll be fine.”

But Jon wasn’t satisfied only knowing that the bleeding had stopped, he wanted to know how the fuck it had even started.

“Theon,” she called weakly.

“Give her water,” the large young man said the lad sat on the bed. “She needs to keep herself hydrated. I’m surprised she’s still conscious.”

Jon’s heart ached.

“I’ve been through much worse, Lord Tarly,” Sansa sounded a bit amused. “Some blood won’t hold me down for long.”

They turned to her, and Sansa was already sat up on the bed, sipping on her water, but Jon saw right through the tough exterior.

“Leave us alone,” he decided, not looking away from her. “Now.”

While Sam left, Theon stood his ground, standing right between him and her, but was quickly stopped by Sansa.

“Theon,” she reached out with her hand, touching his back. “You can go.”

They felt in silence, the quiet air only broken when the door was closed.

“What happened?” he muttered.

Sansa was trying her best, but her face was showing the effect of whatever had happened to her. Her skin was even whiter than before, and her usually pink lips and cheeks were grey and dry.

They opened and closed, and for the first time in so long, tears came to her eyes.

“I was…” she hesitated, breathing deep. “I was with child.”

Jon froze in shock. A child? In the midst of this war, with Daenerys and…

“Was?” he stepped closer to her bed.

“I’m not. Not anymore. It was the best decision.”

_The best decision._

Sansa didn’t need to continue and Jon knew that doing so would only torture her further, but still, he needed to know more.

“When?”

“A fortnight before you left.”

He could still remember that night very well. She was beautiful on top of him, naked under the candles, and when she lied by his side – right here, in her chambers – he felt like he was in the cave again. For a night, they didn’t have to worry about anything or anyone; they were just two Starks in the world, two lonely wolves that found one another and made their own pack.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“It’s for the best.”

 _But the best isn’t always the easiest._ He reminded himself.

“It’s for the best. _”_

Jon nodded slowly. It was indeed. It didn’t hurt any less, however, and probably more on her than on him.

“I have something to tell you,” he said after a long silence. “I had a talk with Sam.”

Sansa’s eyes didn’t leave his face while he spoke, and Jon told her of everything. Every single detail, every single one of Sam’s words, and while he expected her to say something – anything – the woman in front of him just stood in silence. When he was over, she lowered her head, processing her thoughts in the silence, and raised her eyes again.

“You’re a Stark. You’ll always be a Stark. Lyanna was a Stark, and so are you.”

He felt his shoulders relaxing along with this whole body. Her words were the first comfort he’d found since he’d left Winterfell to meet the Dragon Queen.

“You need to lay down,” Jon finally whispered, seeing the exhaustion on her face.

“Lay with me.”

He didn’t protest, and after so long he could finally feel her head on his chest. For a moment, as briefly as it was, the smell of blood in the room didn’t bother him, neither the fact he was fully clothed on a bed and the fact the dead were coming was pushed to the very last place of his mind for a moment. Right now, he was with her.

“I meant what I said,” Jon whispered, and Sansa squeezed his side to show she was, indeed, listening. “I’ll protect you. I’ll protect you from the dead, from Cersei, from Daenerys and her dragons… I don’t care what happens. I’ll protect you. Whatever it costs.”

Sansa didn't answer. She didn't know if she should believe him. Maybe she should, maybe she shouldn't. What mattered now though, was that she needed to rest, so she just closed her eyes.

 

 

 

 _I'm sorry that I'm here so late_  
_And please don't turn my heart away_  
_Cause without you, I'm so hollow_  
_I'm sorry that I let you go_  
_It's only when it's lost you know  
_ _Seeing you, missing you  
_ _Such a bitter pill to swallow_

 


	5. Then who the hell was I?

They took Sansa down to the crypts in one of Bran’s wheeled chairs, and Theon hadn’t stopped asking her how she felt before leaving to the battle. She was still feeling bad. Walking usually resulted in her being dizzy and passing out, and she couldn’t keep lots of food down. The Maester was always reminding her to get her water, and Arya wouldn’t leave her alone for a second.

Once she arrived to be with the people she felt their eyes on her. Tyrion had his eyebrows furrowed, and the dragon queen’s friend – Missandei – seemed to be ready to tell her _master_ how wounded the lady of Winterfell was.

“How do you feel?” her once husband asked, breaking the silence in the crypts.

Sansa only stared at her front.

“I’m alright.”

He glanced at her face and then the chair, then back, which made Sansa press her lips together in annoyance.

“I heard you were ill,” he pointed. “I hope you feel better now. May I ask…”

“No,” she interrupted him before there was any continuation to the question. “You may not.”

Tyrion drank from his wine in response, and she took a breath. She could hear the noise up in the castle, the steps and fights.

This would be a very long night.

* * *

 

Arya was the one to come and retrieve Sansa with the Hound on her heels, blood all over her face, and no Theon.

“Well?” she inquired to her sister.

“We won,” she answered in a mutter.

The redhead looked around, seeing as people started leaving.

“Jon and Bran?” she questioned anxiously. “Theon?”

“Jon and Bran are alive,” Arya listed. “Theon died to save our brother.”

Her heart dropped to her stomach.

“What about the others? Brienne, Jaime, Ghost…”

“Alive.”

Sansa relaxed a bit but still battled against tears. Theon was the one who helped her escape from Ramsay, the one who saved her from the monster her dead husband was and hadn’t left her side for a single moment since finding out what was happening to her. He held her hand when she thought she was gonna build to death, and even stood up for a fight when he thought Jon was a threat – even knowing he would not be much of a fight for a for the former Lord Commandant of the Night’s Watch.

“What happened to you?” Clegane asked, his voice even rougher than normal and sounding more tired than normal.

“It’s a long story,” she sighed. “You wouldn’t want to hear it.”

_And I wouldn’t want to tell it._

They took her to her chambers, and Sansa had just stood from her chair – undressed and with her hair falling lose on her shoulders – when she heard a knock on her door and walked slowly to meet her visitor.

“Sansa,” Jon whispered as soon as the door was opened enough for him to get in and gripped her by her middle in a mixture of hug and support before closing the entrance behind himself with a _bang_ once again.

She just closed her eyes, putting her own arms around his shoulders, breathing in as he buried his face on her neck.

“I was afraid of losing you,” she whispered, too afraid of confessing it in a full voice.

He squeezed her silently.

“Are you feeling well?” he enquired. “Any bleeding? Are you able to eat? Were you falling asleep when I came?”

“I’m alright,” she interrupted him. “I’ve been better but I’m alright.”

Jon let out a breath that looked and felt very painful and moved slowly, helping Sansa back to her bed.

“You need to rest,” he affirmed. “I shouldn’t have woken you up.”

He kneeled in front of her, and the two stared at one another silently. It was over. The Night King was dead and his army was gone. They _won._

“It’s over,” he whispered. “Why do I feel like it’s not?”

Sansa moved a hand to her stomach, covering it like she had done many times before. This time, however, it was empty.

“Because it’s not,” she clenched her shift in her hand. “As long as she is here we won’t be safe.”

Jon closed his eyes, taking a long breath.

“Sansa…” he shifted his weight on his knees.

“No, Jon,” she interrupted him. “The moment she stepped in here I just knew we would never be safe. She doesn’t care about anyone, she doesn’t care about anything, all she cares is that throne. She will destroy everything in her way.”

He swallowed down, feeling his throat dry. She was right, but he didn’t want to say it aloud.

“She’s gonna be Queen,” he affirmed. “She’ll have her Throne and she’ll leave us alone.”

Sansa closed her eyes, tears falling on her cheeks before she could fight them.

“She won’t leave us alone, don’t you see? She won’t _ever_ leave us alone,” she squeezed her shift even harder in her hands. “What happens after she gets her throne? She won’t let us be independent, and you won’t be here either.”

Jon’s shoulders sagged.

“There’s no way you can know that.”

She shook her head.

“She thinks she has you,” Sansa stared into his eyes. “She’ll want to keep you by her side and she’s not one to share.”

He reached out, touching her face and caressing her cheek.

“Please…” he whispered.

He didn’t want to think about that, he didn’t want to remember what was waiting for him outside of her chambers. For once in years, he didn’t need to worry about death approaching them and could focus on the present.

“She’ll be a good queen,” he affirmed. “She’ll be merciful and wise, believe me.”

Sansa shook her head again. He was lying to himself, and he knew that.

“You need to sleep,” he said, changing the subject like he always did. “I’ll…”

“Don’t go,” she interrupted him. “I’m alone.”

Jon frowned for a split of a second, but his face softened when he finally – finally – saw how she was covering the place she should be growing a bump, but wouldn’t. Not anymore.

He moved his hands to his clothes, silently undressing until he was only in his breeches and tunic, and lied by her side, pulling her to his chest. Jon played with her red locks, breathing in her scent for a moment before his hands moved down and touched the place under her belly button, making Sansa breath in deeply.

He could feel it, her _bump_. It wasn’t big but it was there for him to feel.

“It was a boy,” she muttered. “Arya told me.”

Jon took a laboured breath. A boy. His boy. _His son._

“I wish I was here,” he whispered. “I wish I could… We could…”

The pain she had been trying to avoid filled her chest and Sansa closed her eyes. She’d given up on her baby – _her son_ – because she knew he wouldn’t have the life he deserved.

“He’d grow up in a world without the Walkers, in an endless summer.”

She pressed her lips together, trying to keep herself from crying. Her son would be protected from the world, he’d be noble and kind like no man before him, and he would be loved. _So loved._

Sansa started sobbing uncontrollably before she realised it was happening, and Jon moved his arm higher to hold her even tighter.

“I’m sorry, Sansa,” he whispered. “I’m really sorry.”

 

 _I told you to be patient, I told you to be fine_ _  
_ _I told you to be balanced, I told you to be kind_ _  
_ _Now all your love is wasted? Then who the hell was I?_ _  
_ _Now I'm breaking at the britches And at the end of all your lines_ _  
_ _Who will love you? Who will fight?_   
_Come on skinny love_


	6. She never wanted to leave

 

Sansa couldn’t celebrate. She couldn’t drink the wine being served and even though the food was delicious, she couldn’t eat more than some mouthfuls. A single one of her beloved lemon pies after modest bites had her feeling too full and nauseous, which was a big shame.

From watching Jon and the men around him, praising him and his skills, and challenging him to drink more and more, until he was laughing and clearly tipsy. The Dragon Queen was there too, completely alone. Sansa lost her smile when she noticed the looks she was sending Jon, and felt her insides turning in disgust when he looked back at her the same way, suddenly questioning herself if she remembered the last time he looked at her that way. She wanted to trust him again, to give him the change of proving that whatever he had with this foreign woman was pure pretend, but she couldn’t. Everyone who’s been good for her had either died from their good nature or used her. Which was he, honestly?

The redhead stood up, holding the glass of water in her hand and giving steady steps towards the opposite end of the table, afraid to make a fool of herself for falling down or even stumbling.

“Lady Sansa,” the maester stood up from besides Bran.

“I need fresh air,” she cut him. “Thank for your concern.”

Wolkan sat back down, and she made her way out of the hall, exchanging brief words with the people on the way but ignoring when Podrick Payne followed her steps.

“I just need some air,” she said as they stepped out of the great hall.

“I know, my lady,” the young man confirmed, but didn’t stop.

Sansa scoffed.

“You know you don’t have to follow me.”

“I know, my lady.”

The men around didn’t do much more than moving while she walked, and the lady only stopped when she reached one of the few battlements that had survived the attack, gazing into the emptiness where the last of bodies were still burning. Pod didn’t say any words, nor approached her, only standing at a respectful distance.

In the silence and darkness, it was hard for Sansa to control her ghosts, especially now in Winterfell. She could see Jon, Theon and Robb sparing in the yard, and Arya hiding from Septa Mordane while her parents watched all of them; her mother would be carrying Rickon in her arms and her father would be watching over Bran’s lessons with Maester Luwin. What a dream would it be to wake up and find out this was all a nightmare, that they lived in a world where the walkers were never real and Jon was always her cousin, and where Lady was still asleep at her side on her bed.

What wouldn’t she give for her father’s comforting touch and for her mother’s warm embrace? She could already hear her saying everything was going to be alright, but she couldn’t even remember her voice anymore.

And her son… In another world, he could be running in those walls, laughing and playing, sparing with his father and making Sansa worry about the smallest of things.

“I am sorry for your loss, my lady,” she heard after a long silence.

“We’ve all lost someone yesterday, Podrick.”

“I don’t mean yesterday, my lady,” he explained himself. “It’s… Your other loss, my lady.”

She took a long and painful breath.

“Thank you.”

They both turned around when heavy steps approached the battlements, and Sansa opened a small smile.

“Leave us,” the Hound growled, and the young man glanced at her, only following when the lady nodded.

The redhead continued silent, and the tall man approached her side.

“You should be celebrating with the others,” she noticed.

“I don’t see you in there either,” he noticed. “I heard they broke you.”

She squeezed the cold stones under her hands. She knew he’d mention it eventually – Sandor Clegane wasn’t one to be subtle or delicate; she remembered that very well.

“And yet I’m still standing.”

But he wasn’t satisfied.

“It wouldn’t have happened if you had left with me. You would have been free.”

She lowered her eyes. Had she gone with him, everything would have been different; she would have been forced to marry twice, wouldn’t have been used by Littlefinger or used and raped by Ramsay… But she probably would have never found Jon again, nor would have taken the North back or reunited her family.

“Doesn’t matter anymore,” the Lady of Winterfell decided. “I’m home now, with my family. Most people who stood up against me are dead.”

“Except for Cersei.”

She shifted on her spot, but the image of Arya crossing the yard made her sister’s lips twist in a half grin.

“She’s in Arya’s list.”

He made the sound of a chuckle, and she followed right after, relaxing a bit.

“What about the dragon queen?”

The silence that fell on them was so tense they could feel it in their skins, only interrupted by Jon’s arrival.

“Sansa,” the former king called. “You shouldn’t be on your feet.”

Clegane gave him and the wheeled chair waiting for her a few feet away from them a glance before looking back at her.

“The She-Wolf is hurt,” he noticed.

She-Wolf. Not a Little Bird, not anymore.

“I’ll live,” she assured both. “Worst things could have killed me and never did.”

As if to prove her wrong, her head became a bit lighter, but Sansa didn’t let it on, keeping her breath steady until it passed.

“Come,” Jon offered her his arms. “I’ll take you to your chambers.”

Sansa didn’t move, looking at him from head to toe.

“You’re drunk.”

Jon shook his head, holding a smile.

“I’m fine.”

She only rolled her eyes.

“Go to your chambers and rest, Jon,” she instructed. “I can find Brienne on my own.”

Clegane, however, interrupted her.

“I’ll take you there.”

He offered her an arm, and Jon was surprised when she took it. She sat on the wheeled chair, and the three entered the castle in silence, her cousin left after much hesitance of leaving her and the man who’d once saved her life alone.

Her handmaid was already waiting when they arrived, and the hound didn’t say any words when he let go of her chair.

“Are you staying?” Sansa questioned as he stepped outside her door.

He turned around, clearly confused.

“In Winterfell,” she clarified. “Some people are staying. Are you?”

He fixed his posture.

“I have some unresolved business in King’s Landing.”

She nodded.

“Thank you,” the redhead stared into his eyes. “For everything.”

The man responded to her with silence, turning around and leaving.

. . .

“You shouldn’t go.”

Sansa braced herself, the pain inside her chest even heavier and stronger every day that passed. The Dragon Queen didn’t want to wait for the men to recover; the warriors were about to leave to conquer King’s Landing, and Jon was with them once again.

“I promised I’d go,” he reminded. “I promised her our men in exchange for her help.”

The Lady of Winterfell shook her head. They were in her solar; their goodbye just as secret as their love.

“And what was her help? Her dragons didn’t light up the trenches, the Red Priestess did. She didn’t kill the Night King, Arya did. All she has done since she arrived was try to drive us apart.”

“I gave her my word, Sansa,” he reminded her. “I’ll fight and I’ll come back.”

She sighed as he cupped her cheek, leaning into the warm touch of his bare hand.

“You know you won’t,” she whispered.

Jon only stared into her eyes.

“Once she’s done taking the Iron Throne, there’ll be nothing for her to focus besides wanting you.”

He sighed. He knew it. He knew it and he was still going.

“Every time a Stark leaves Winterfell something bad happens to them.”

Jon let out a laboured breath.

“It happened to me,” she reminded him. “To Arya, to Bran… Father, Robb, Mother… It happened to you.”

_Stay. Stay for me._

She wanted to cry and sob, to throw a tantrum like a silly child. Last time he’d left her, he had come back with a foreign woman. What would he bring after that? A child? If he even came back.

“I will miss you,” he caressed her hair with his free hand.

Sansa closed her eyes and cupped his hand to press it harder against her skin.

“Come back to me. Please.”

He opened a small smile.

“I always come back.”

Jon took her lips in his, holding her close in an embrace.

“Ghost will protect you in my absence,” he gave her a small smile.

Sansa nodded, and he kissed her again, stepping back and helping her sitting back on her chair, pushing her out of the solar in front of himself. Arya was leaving too. She had come to tell Sansa before Jon had shown up. She was going to kill Cersei. It was only Bran and Sansa now, for only gods knew how long.

Tormund waved to her. He was leaving too, with all the Free Folk, to beyond the wall… Well, what would be beyond the wall hadn’t it been partially destroyed.

For the third time, Jon stopped in front of her. This time, all of the people could see them, but he wasn’t afraid of embracing her tightly after helping her stand up.

“Stay safe,” he gazed into her eyes.

Sansa nodded.

“You too.”

And, once again, he left.

 

_High in the halls of the kings who are gone Jenny would dance with her ghosts_   
_The ones she had lost and the ones she had found and the ones who had loved her the most_   
_The ones who'd been gone for so very long, she couldn't remember their names_   
_They spun her around on the damp old stones, spun away all her sorrow and pain_   
_And she never wanted to leave._

(And if anyone is interested, [this is me singing Jenny of Oldstones](https://welldonebeca.tumblr.com/post/185053720078/thats-me-you-can-ignore-if-you-want-to).)


	7. An independent North

The first letter had arrived days after the two groups had arrived and days after the group on the boat was supposed to arrive in Dragonstone; the Iron Fleet had ambushed the Targaryen queen and killed one of her two dragons – the one Jon had rode during the battle against the army of the dead - and her server, Missandei, was kidnapped by Cersei on the spot.

Days later, she discovered the girl had been killed.

Sansa wanted to find Jon and say to him ‘I told you so’. Gods, she should have kept him there in Winterfell, at a dungeon, and forced him to stay as far as possible from his bratty self-entitled aunt, where she would be able to protect and shelter him.

Arya hadn’t sent her any news, but Sansa didn’t expect anything from her. According to Bran, their sister was safe and alive, and the redhead knew her well enough to understand that she wouldn’t be back before her mission was completed.

The lady of Winterfell had started feeling better as time passed. The maester had been monitoring her closely and she had lots of more energy as time passed; by the time anything new arrived, Sansa was already feeling fully recovered.

She was with Gilly that morning, walking and talking about her pregnancy. The wildling girl had married Sam recently and the redhead couldn’t help but think that her own pregnancy would be just as far as long as hers had it continued. Her stomach would be showing largely and she’d be so close to being a mother it hurt.

“ Lady Sansa,” Brienne’s voice called her. “A letter.”

Her whole body went rigid for a moment.

“ I’ll talk to your later,” she said to the Lady Tarly, quickly moving to meet the woman Knight.

“ Seems urgent,” Brienne explained. “All of the Lords left in here received the same one.”

That made Sansa’s heart race. Something bad had happened, she could feel in her very bones and blood. She almost tore the paper while trying to open, and although her suspicions were partially wrong, the content did nothing to calm her down.

It was about Jon. More specifically, about him not being a bastard, his true parents and how he was the legitimate heir of Rhaegar Targaryen to the Iron Throne. 

Brienne watched her silently, from how her face - even though still covered by a sharp veil of courtesy - showed a hint of worry to how her body tensed completely.

"Please, summon all of the important people we have left," she requested to the knight. "Immediately."

Not even a full hour later, the great hall was a mess of shouting and angry men and women. The word ‘Targaryen’ was thrown around like a curse, and Sansa was feeling like the floor had removed itself from her feet. It wasn’t supposed to be like that, they weren’t supposed to learn this way. 

She exchanged a look with Bran. How was she supposed to calm everyone down like that?

“My lords,” the lady finally stood up, and the voices died slowly. “My lords, I believe the contents of that letter have already reached all of you here present.”

The room filled up with sound again, but Sansa raised her hand before it could get out of control. 

“I know this is a shock,” she continued. “All my life I heard that my aunt Lyanna was a fierce woman, a she-wolf like none before.”

She chose her words wisely, using the same term people now described her and Arya: she-wolves. 

“She wasn’t kidnapped, but went on her own journey and gave birth to a son. Jon. She gave him her own life and made sure that he’d be raised here in the North, because she knew who he would one day become.”

She hoped she was making sense; gods be good, this was too much. The only people who knew about Jon’s secret before were the Starks, Samwell Tarly and his wife; Jon had told Arya before leaving for King’s Landing and Samwell and Bran were the ones who had found out about the secret. Now the whole North knew, and the rest of Westeros just as well; and if they all knew it, then the Targaryen queen also knew it, and Sansa was afraid of what she could do with the information in hands. 

“I trust Jon Snow with my life,” Sansa said in a strong voice. “I don’t care about his name. He’s the same man who was by my side when we retrieved the North from the Bolton and prepared ourselves for Winter, the same man who united the people of the seven kingdoms and the wildlings and who would do anything in his reach to protect us from harm.”

* * *

 

That had calmed the Lords for a time, but not for long. She had had to pack and leave to King’s Landing the very next day, representing both the Starks and their families. Sansa had promised herself she’d never, ever step foot into that city again after the years of pain and torture, but the letter was from Jon, and she knew she had to go. 

The place was destroyed; it looked nothing like what had Sansa remembered. The stone streets that used to be filled with people looked like a snow desert - but she knew they were covered in  _ ashes _ \- the Great Sept of Baelor, where she had been forcefully married to Tyrion Lannister years and years ago, didn’t exist anymore and was replaced by a hole in the ground of the hill. The people… They weren’t a lot of people, and even less of them were out to watch them arrive. 

Things had happened too fast after the letter about Jon’s true identity; The Dragon Queen had finally revealed her true face and burnt hundreds of thousands of innocent people with dragon fire, and pilling from the Unsullied and Dothraki did the rest of the trick. She had burnt Cersei’s body to the bone even after finding her already dead with Jaime by her side, her throat cut and his heart stabbed in what seemed to have been a suicide mission. 

What happened next left everyone more than shocked - even more so than what the Queen had done -, and her own Knight, Sir Jorah the Andal, had ended her life with a sword to her chest. He’d surrendered himself to the leader of the Unsullied right after, not even afraid of collecting the results of his actions. He loved her, Sansa knew.  _ The things we do for love. _

She wasn’t a stranger to love sacrifices. 

She left the wheelhouse with the coldest look on her face. It felt like a cold summer day in Winterfell in the capital, and it sounded just as silent when she entered the dragon pit and sat down where a chair had been reserved for the Lady of Winterfell. Arya was right behind her, standing beside Brienne as in a way of protecting her from whatever could come from those people. The biggest houses were represented in the middle of the pit, but there were hundreds of smaller lords taking space in the bleachers. This reunion would decide who would occupy the seat Cersei’s death left as Queen. 

Sansa, however, wasn’t there for it. She had a mission, set upon her by herself and for her people. She’d declare the North independent and leave those Southerners to their own politics. 

Jon sat down by her side, and the Grandmaester selected by the Citadel was the one to explain to them what about to happen right before giving them the opportunity to say anything that would be relevant at that moment, and Sansa knew this was her one and only opportunity.

The three Starks exchanged looks and Sansa put herself on her feet. 

“My lords,” she looked around. “The times Westeros faces now are of change. Our people have suffered and our lands have suffered since the death of King Robert Baratheon. Joffrey was a stupid and cruel King, a child spoiled rotten, honestly,” Sansa tried not to shudder with the memories crossing her mind. “Tommen was used by his grandfather, then his mother, then his wife, then the faith and died like a no one.”

Sansa heard as the lords agreed along with her, and felt as her heart filled up with more confidence. 

“Cersei didn’t care about anyone other than herself and every single one of us suffered because of this,” she continued. “And Daenerys… Well… I don’t have to say anything about Daenerys, do I?”

Jon lowered his head, perhaps embarrassed, but she didn’t give him more than a few seconds of attention. 

“The North was in ruins because of them, but we fought and we conquered something that we won’t give away. We are an independent Kingdom now. We are open to business and diplomacy like we always were, and you can count on our help on the occasions you need. But from this day on our forces are retreating and we won’t be subjected to any other King or Queen if not our own.”

 

> _ I have made every single mistake that you could ever possibly make _ __  
>  _ I took and I took and I took what you gave, I knew what I wanted; I went in and got it, _ _  
>  _ _ I did all the things that you said that I wouldn't, I told you that I would never be forgotten _ _  
>  _ __ And I'm still breathing, I’m alive
> 
>  


	8. Epilogue

The Northern men looked more and more comfortable the further North their group travelled, and the sight of Winterfell was a comfort to all of them alike. All Sansa wanted to do was get to her bed and sleep for a fortnight as she stepped inside the castle walls, but they had a problem to solve before anyone could rest from the wars and the trip they all had to make to King’s Landing. The King issue.

So there they were again, all of the Starks sat in the great hall with the men ready to discuss something they seemed to have been holding since leaving the six kingdoms.

Now that the North was independent, who would be ruling it? They needed a king, but things were a bit more complicated than before.

“How can we trust him not to give up the North again?” Lyanna Mormont stared right at Jon, standing in the middle of the hall with a cane to help herself due to the leg she’d broken during the battle.

The group made an agreement noise, and Jon lowered his head in response. He was still divided over his choice – his aunt had committed genocide, but she had also helped them in the great war.

“The Starks have been ruling the lands of the North for thousands of years,” Sansa argued. “Kings who fought for years, like Jon did, doing everything in their condition to see in surviving. He took it back from Boltons when they stole it from us and saved us from their hands.”

“But I didn’t do it alone,” he interrupted her.

Sansa and Arya turned to their cousin with confused expressions. He’d been silent the whole day, and even more brooding and quiet than his normal self.

“There’s one person who always insisted on our independence,” he pointed. “The same person who forged our alliances that helped us take back our home, who rebuilt this castle and sacrificed dreams and blood for the North, even fought me to fulfil your wishes to remain aside from the Seven Kingdoms.”

The redhead’s back felt rigid. What was he trying to say? He couldn’t possibly…

“My cousin Sansa opened the doors of our home for every man, woman and child who needed us,” Jon listed, fully aware of how they already knew his true parentage at this point, there was no use for hiding. “She built up stocks to last us through all Winter, found us a way to make money with all Northern resources, forged alliances with Lords that need our favours just as much as we need theirs. She learnt from her journey back home and is now here, applying everything for your benefits.”

The corner of Arya’s lip twitched upward in pleasure, already knowing where he was about to say right after.

“I don’t see anyone who cares and loves more the North that Sansa, and I don’t see anyone else more fit to be Queen in the North.”

The world slowed down around Sansa. By her side, her cousin pulled his sword and dropped to his knee like a knight offering his services to a Lord, looking up at her in what she couldn’t even describe, but anyone outside would see as pure adoration.

She froze. What if the people didn’t agree, what if they thought she wasn’t fit or…

“The Queen in the North,” Lyanna declared, standing on her feet.

After her, it was a chain reaction. Brienne, Podrick, Lord Mormont… Each and every Lord, Lady and warrior. They were all on their feet, raising their swords and shouting ‘the Queen in the North’ loud and clear. Her sister turned to her with a proud expression on her face, and Bran gave her a small nod that made her think that maybe he knew about that for longer than she did herself.

“The Queen in the North,” Arya whispered.

The Queen in the North.

* * *

 

“I know who the baby’s father is,” her sister broke the silence inside the room.

Sansa froze in her spot, her needle almost done with the wolf detail on the side of the shirt Arya would be wearing to her coronation.

“Excuse me?” the recent Queen raised her eyes.

They were in her room, somewhere she and Arya had recently discovered they enjoyed spending quiet and silent time together.

“You didn’t think you’d keep it to yourself for so long, did you?

Sansa shifted on her seat.

“Arya…”

But her sister interrupted her before she could continue.

“Look… I get it. You do not have the same relationship with Jon that I do. You see him as family but not like a brother and that’s… Well, I guess that’s fine. I talked to him and he really, _really_ loves you.”

Sansa blushed, looking down at her own hands.

“It will be weird,” Arya continued. “And if you can, please, not smooch in front of me, it will make it easier for me. But if there's anyone you should marry, that person is Jon.”

Her blue eyes widened.

“I don’t really know if he wants to marry me,” she managed to say, speechless about what she’d just said.

Her sister raised her eyebrows, a bit surprised.

“Sansa… He looks like you like you’re a fucking goddess.”

It had been six weeks since they had arrived North, and Jon had been avoiding her in the castle ever since. They led different roles in Winterfell, with Jon negotiating with the Wildlings and watching out for the weaponry they had started to manufacture and sell, along with supervising the training of new soldiers. Sansa was the Queen now, and she had her own duties.

“We haven‘t spent time together in weeks,” she squeezed the fabric in her hands. “Proposals are showing up for all of us. He might just want to leave.”

Her face twisted in annoyance in a response to the thought in her head.

“Alys Karstark has shown interest in him. She’s pretty and she was quite a decent warrior.”

Arya left out a loud sigh in annoyance.

“If he won’t look for you, you summon him,” she said like it was obvious. “Sansa… You’re a Queen now. You can do pretty much whatever you want.”

She rolled her blue eyes but sighed.

“I’ll try and talk to him.”

“Do more than try.”

Sansa just shook her head and went back to her work, closing the design and cutting the thread with her teeth before offering it to her sister.

“Try it on, let me see if there’s anything to fix.”

Arya complied silently, and Sansa helped her fasten the shirt before making a circle around her.

“I think it’s perfect,” she muttered but looked up anyway to check with the brunette. “Move a bit. Let me see if it’s too tight.”

The warrior complied. It was a perfect and comfortable fit.

“It’s unlikely that a battle is going to ensure during the coronation, but who knows,” the Queen chuckled. “Take it off, I don’t want anything bad to happen to it.”

Her sister laughed, getting herself out of the ‘special’ shirt and putting her clothes back again.

“I’ve just finished Jon’s cape,” the redhead said in soft words, more to herself than to Arya. “I need to see it on him.”

The brunette stopped in her tracks.

“I’ll bring him, then,” she offered, fixing her hair briefly before walking out, not giving her sister the opportunity to protest.

Arya left the room, not even closing the door after herself, and Sansa shook her head, moving on to check Bran’s cape for a last time. She was making their outfits to match at the ceremony, which would be held the following day. Winterfell was slowly going back to its past self; the people were slowly going back to their routine and this Winter had shown itself to be the mildest one registered in the latest century.

There was a knock on Sansa’s door, and a guard announced Jon’s visit, making way for him moments later.

“Arya said you needed me,” he stepped into the room hesitantly, removing his cape.

Sansa had a new rule about capes, prohibiting them inside since they could bring snow and dirt into the rooms of the fortress. Now, each room had a hanger and every lord, worker, free person or visitor would be asked to hang their cape before audiences or proceeding with the conversation.

“It’s your cape,” the Queen explained. “It’s ready.”

Jon walked to her awkwardly, and she tried her best to maintain her usual posture while fastening the cape on him and adjusting it to his body. For a moment, her hand stopped on his arm, but she didn’t linger on it for long. The last time he’d given her any comforting touch was before leaving for King’s Landing, and those were the last time hands had purposefully touched her skin. Aside from her handmaidens, no one ever came close enough to touch her – even Arya wasn’t fond of physical contact.

“What do you think?” she stepped back, hiding her nervous hands behind her back.

“Feels very comfortable,” he affirmed.

She helped him remove it, and Jon took a moment to observe the detail of the fastening part. The metal wolves attached to the dark patter of leaves looked too perfect to have been made in just six weeks and matched the coat she’d sent to him days later.

“I had been making the cape since you first left,” Sansa confessed. “When I found out…”

She didn’t continue. It was still a soft spot for her, talking about their lost baby.

“I needed a distraction at night,” her voice came out soft and small.

Jon took a breath and turned to her.

“Sansa,” his shoulders dropped. “A lot has happened.”

She nodded, sitting down on her bed.

“A lot, indeed.”

Jon rubbed his face.

“I’m sorry,” he said slowly.

“You already said that.”

He sighed. Jon wasn’t good with his words, that was something they both knew very well. Still, he tried to proceed.

“I know you suffered more than I did. You loved our son for weeks before I even knew of his existence; you almost lost your life to ensure the safety of our family, because you knew we couldn’t have a baby amidst the chaos. I almost lost you, and there isn’t a day I don’t think about what you went through.”

She closed her eyes for a split of a moment, trying to avoid the tears that threatened to fall on her face.

“I love you, Sansa,” he swallowed hard, feeling a lump in his throat. “And I want to be with you if you have me, but I understand if you don’t want me back.”

Sansa raised her eyes. Was that the reason he was hiding away from her?

“You want to marry me?” she questioned.

“I want to be with you,” he repeated. “However I can, in any way I can. I want to make you happy. I would marry you a hundred times, but you’re the Queen now and I know…”

“I want to marry you,” she stood up, walking to him and standing close to his body.

“The Lords…”

She silenced him.

“I can convince the Lords,” she said like it was nothing. “I want you. I love you.”

Jon’s expression softened, and he reached out, cupping her cheek and caressing her skin with his thumb. Sansa leant onto the touch; oh, how she missed it.

“But I need time,” she whispered, pain slipping through her words just as they came out of her lips. “I don’t know if I’m ready now.”

He didn’t even seem affected.

“We can take all of the time you need.”

 

 

> _I don't wanna be someone who walks away so easily, I'm here to stay and make the difference that I can make  
>  _ _Our differences they do a lot to teach us how to use the tools and gifts we've got yeah we got a lot at stake  
>  _ _And in the end, you're still my friend at least we did intend for us to work we didn't break, we didn't burn  
>  _ _We had to learn how to bend without the world caving in  
>  _ _I had to learn what I got, and what I'm not and who I am  
>  _ _I won't give up on us even if the skies get rough  
>  _ _I'm giving you all my love,_  
>  I'm still looking up
> 
>   
> 

The End.


End file.
